H e a r t   S o n s   &   H e a r t   D a u g h t e r s   of   A l l e n   G i n s b e r g

N a p a l m   H e a l t h   S p a :   R e p o r t   2 0 1 4 :   A r c h i v e s   E d i t i o n

 

 

MARC OLMSTED

 

 

Noble Flying Lizard

 

Watching Rodan monster movie called Ray-don in Japanese, high school

friend

Richard's laser disk no subtitles

Now I'm nearly 50, he's 52

Back from the hospital where my mother called me Jack called Richard Jack,

we were morphing into an old business partner of my dead father the hospital

morphed into her condo "let's go into the front room" she said, earlier asking

my sister "have you ever had a cadaver inserted in you?" she meant catheter

or maybe not

-       next day she said "Hello Marc-o" lucid again, a relief I went to the

tattoo parlor in Venice, I wanted a red samurai crest, remembering my

mother's ass, flank, her fur where the catheter was indeed inserted,

flashing all this as she flipped in the bed, how young for 83 in those

brief flashes the Asian girly pictures that decorated Richard's

computer room flickering recent memory, her legs just as hairless,

Native American blood (though elbow skin waxy, toes flaking)

first time I saw that patch I was afraid of it a tarantula later seen through night

gown sexy & evil now strangely charming even with yellow urine tube same

where I came though a different hole same hospital where Richard was born

though I was born 3000 miles from her from here the island called Long in

New York

I wanted a warrior's tattoo, soon an orphan soon alone but Tabu Tattoo

couldn't see me for an hour and a half — I had a plane to catch - Richard's

eyes said "get it when you come back for the funeral" — "What a thought!" I

told him, but it was a good idea

 

Now into the dusk sky I am Ray-don the noble flying monster orange-lit

ocean sunlight winking on car roofs below I thought were beach bonfires

I'll probably never see her again my lama will do a ceremony at her death but

at least she said "Marc-o" and she held up her hand & said "Peace"

the rainbow curtain around her bed peeled back, rainbow body waiting

 

 

8/24/03 Los Angeles

 

 

[Originally published in NHS 2004, http://www.poetspath.com/napalm/nhs04/Marc_Olmsted.html.]